


Under sun and shade alike

by chaoticlivi



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Fluff, Fluff and Smut, He/Him Pronouns For Aziraphale (Good Omens), He/Him Pronouns For Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Making Love, Making an Effort (Good Omens), Other, Outdoor Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, narrator addresses the reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:47:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25208713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticlivi/pseuds/chaoticlivi
Summary: The impending summer is an excited whisper among leaves in the apple trees, the sweet scent of their bloom lingering in the air. Amid a rather overgrown patch of especially verdant trees is a shed of some sort, bleached from the elements, apparently not in use by anyone except the two entities having an intimate moment against it.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 133





	Under sun and shade alike

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by Euterpein, who's also here on AO3. Thank you!

It’s the future now, dear reader.

Set the scene: an early May morning, bright and sunny. A charming little Brighton inn, just a short drive from an old, half-maintained apple orchard. Inside one of the rooms, an angel (who you might not recognize as an angel if you haven’t heard the history yet) stands at the mirror, adjusting his bowtie with a prim enthusiasm that should be contradictory but somehow isn’t.

“I don’t suppose you’d be open to going for a walk,” he says, turning to his companion, who has his sunglasses on already and has returned to the bed for a good sprawl. (Though he’s much more shady-looking than the other, you would most likely not assume he’s literally a demon on first sight, either. He is, though, literally a demon.) “I did spot that nice orchard on our way in last night,” the angel adds.

The impulse to snarl about how demons don’t go for lovely walks in orchards has not gone away, no matter how retired he is. But the deep-down truth is this particular demon doesn’t, at heart, have a problem with orchards, or sunshine, or gentle outings with angels who are overexcited about springtime. And it’s their first vacation together under this...whatever sort of arrangement you’d call it when an angel and a demon cuddle on a regular basis and occasionally engage in the pleasures of the flesh.

So they head out.

The impending summer is an excited whisper among leaves in the apple trees, the sweet scent of their bloom lingering in the air. Amid a rather overgrown patch of especially verdant trees is a shed of some sort, bleached from the elements, apparently not in use by anyone except the two entities having an intimate moment against it. 

Normally, the sight of a couple passionately making out in a relatively public place would draw negative attention, and maybe even the police as well, if they went at it for this long. You might cringe and wonder how people could possibly lose themselves that way in public. Aren’t they even a little self-conscious?

But, in addition to letting this happen in a locale that isn’t currently busy in the first place, these two are particularly good (supernaturally good) at not being noticed. So you wouldn’t, in fact, have any thoughts about them at all. They are surrounded by a vibrant Earthly beauty reminiscent of the very place where they met - and they can safely consider themselves alone together.

After a bit of hinting (“Let’s have a look at that quaint little building. Is it an abandoned shed?”) and a few shy gestures (the brush of their hands together, an intertwining of fingers and a gentle meandering toward the right spot), Aziraphale has finally got Crowley pulled in close to him. (It’d been Crowley’s idea to use the shed for support, nudging the angel against it as they kissed. Even in the haze of desire, as Crowley had removed his sunglasses for a better snog, he’d caught Aziraphale hastily double-checking their chosen spot for debris that might rub off on his precious coat; thankfully, he’d found none.)

“Positively delightful to be out here with you,” Aziraphale whispers against Crowley’s lips.

“Mmmmm, yes, the weather is nice, isn’t it.” Crowley lets his lips pull back in a smirk, just for a moment.

“You know full well,” Aziraphale says, before capturing Crowley’s mouth again, licking his way in with playful ferocity, “that I’m not talking about the weather.”

“Ah. Got a different kind of spring fever, have you?” Crowley nods vaguely downward, where Aziraphale’s been pressing his hips into Crowley’s, probably thinking he’s subtle.

“Angels don’t get _any_ kind of spring fever.”

“And yet.” Crowley rolls his hips once.

“Just helping you blend in, my dear,” Aziraphale croons, almost effectively disguising the hitch in his breath with an arch of his eyebrows. “Springtime cavorting is a time-honored tradition among humans, after all.” 

There is a grain of truth here. Though Crowley could never have said he understood it before they’d tried this together, and he still doesn’t understand how out-of-control some of the humans seem to get, they did throw a lot of “fertility festivals” around this time. At the very least, he now understands why a lot of people seem to like physical intimacy so much, and as he considers the metaphor, he can grasp why the sensual pleasures of the weather heating up and the flowers bursting open could pair well with the sensual pleasures of-- well. Of fucking.

Then again…

“Oh, they’re always looking for an excuse. Could there be someone here who’s got that in common with them?” Crowley teases, stroking his fingers through Aziraphale’s curls.

“Hardly my fault,” the angel murmurs against his lips, “when I’ve got the world’s first and best tempter here, always asking what I’d like.”

Crowley growls happily, pressing Aziraphale’s whole body against the wall as they kiss before trailing his way down Aziraphale’s throat. His kisses, punctuated by a gentle graze of teeth, draw forth the most sublime sounds from the angel, although he can’t help answering with his own sounds of enjoyment.

Crowley is excellent at reading desires. Right now, judging by the way he’s being pulled close, how he’s being caressed up and down, how Aziraphale’s hands go from playing with his hair to running along his spine to grabbing his arse and then back again, like he can’t decide where to settle, Crowley believes that maybe what Aziraphale wants is to be held in as many ways as possible all at once.

_As many ways as possible._

And moreover, dear reader, while our demon is carefully conditioned to never, ever articulate such sentimentality out loud, he can empathize with what he very well knows our angel is looking for deep down: unconditional belonging, importance, adoration. Well, you can’t give those to somebody with sex alone, but you can make an example of it, and Crowley suspects a good orgasm would also be a welcome experience, if the heat being pressed against his crotch is any indication.

When he speaks, Crowley’s voice is a little rough, perhaps a little broken.

“Would you like,” he begins, kissing and nipping Aziraphale’s lip some more to stall. “Would you like it if I took you inside me?” And he strokes his fingers over the straining erection in Aziraphale’s trousers. Truth be told, Crowley’s own body is already hyper-receptive, as if making room. He can think of nothing but being filled.

Aziraphale hums. “Mmmmm, yes, _please…_ ”

Their clothes are barely even a thought at this point. The removal thereof could be narrated, but aside from Aziraphale’s vague understanding that he will eventually regret it if they don’t stay clean, our lovers have no interest in them. There’s no point in describing any of the garments they hastily push down and shove aside until they’re both exposed, Aziraphale leaning back against the shed and Crowley wrapping one very flexible leg around his hip, so they can press their naked parts together.

Aziraphale closes his eyes for a long, slow blink and takes a deep breath, which stutters on its way back out.

“Everything okay?” Crowley asks.

“Many times better than ‘okay,’” Aziraphale says. “Would you mind if I moved a little?” He places his hand on Crowley’s thigh, nudging his hips upwards by the slightest bit.

“You’re not even inside yet.”

“Oh, but it still feels exquisite. You’re so-- you’re so warm, Crowley, and soft, and,” he bites his own lip this time, “so very wet.”

Crowley is outright aching now, yearning to surround Aziraphale, to take him in and be the place where yet another part of him belongs. He circles his hips to rub his wet slit over Aziraphale’s arousal, provoking a delicious groan from the angel and very nearly moaning himself. “Well. Maybe it’s time to start in earnest, then?”

“Oh, _yes_ ,” Aziraphale breathes, running his hands along Crowley’s thighs.

Keeping one arm around Aziraphale’s back, holding him tight for both love and stability, Crowley uses the other to reach between them, takes Aziraphale’s cock in hand, and rubs the head along his slit to get it all slick, nearly loses himself lingering against his swollen clit. The sound of his name spilling from Aziraphale’s mouth like pure gratitude refocuses him, reminds him he’s on his way to surround, to hold, to take in, to embrace.

Crowley poises Aziraphale at his entrance, his labia around the tip of the angel’s cock as if giving a kiss. “Angel,” he whispers, their eyes locking, and he pushes his hips forward, his welcoming cunt engulfing Aziraphale from head to hilt. “Oh, angel.” He sighs, lightheaded with Aziraphale’s hooded gaze only a few inches away, with the hot stretch of his girth satisfying the ache deep between Crowley’s legs.

Aziraphale’s eyes slide shut and he tips his head back. “Ooh. Crowley, I--” He pauses to gasp, grabs at the fabric over Crowley’s back. “I can’t last long.”

“You don’t worry about that,” Crowley says, voice low. He winds both arms and the leg he’s raised for access around Aziraphale’s soft, warm body in a tight hug, nibbles tenderly at Aziraphale’s earlobe. “Jusssst do what feels good,” he hisses.

It’s a good thing Crowley’s spine has such a fluid relationship with physics, because it allows him to thrust his hips in delightfully long, slow sweeping motions over Aziraphale’s length while holding him heart-to-heart, while drinking in kiss after kiss. Aziraphale graces Crowley’s lips with a series of soft, beautiful “oh”s and “ah”s, running his hands down Crowley’s back again to grab his arse and meet each of his thrusts, pushing as deeply inside his cunt as he can, murmuring the occasional compliment: “How lovely, to be inside you…oh, my, Crowley, you _are_ exquisite…”

And Aziraphale was right - it isn’t long before he climaxes. The rest of him goes still as he spills, and Crowley reaches down to finger his clit until his own orgasm builds to a fluttering crescendo around Aziraphale’s still-twitching cock.

Their pleasure sounds quiet into slowly-calming breaths, eyes closed for several seconds before their taut corporations relax and both settle down together, Crowley’s forehead against the shed over Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“You do, occasionally, come up with a surprise,” Crowley says at last.

There’s a secretive glance from the angel. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sex in a public place, Aziraphale. In case you hadn’t noticed. How premeditated was this?” Crowley is sure his delight is palpable; he can feel it beaming from his face as he pushes off the wooden siding. Aziraphale follows.

A snap of fingers and the two of them are all tidied up again, a dusty, prim, and proper bookseller and a maybe-former-rock-star in expensive sunglasses strolling in tranquility under the apple trees. If you stumbled around the corner at this moment, you would likely not suspect they’d known each other for over six thousand years, and while you might detect some flirtatious tension in the air, you probably would not assume they’d just been furiously rutting each other into the throes of orgasm against the side of the undisturbed old shed.

Aziraphale sniffs. “It’s doubtful whether it counts as public if humans are incapable of noticing us.”

“It’s the...oh, fair enough.”

“Besides, I said I was tempted, remember?” After this, all of the smugness melts off the angel’s expression, and he’s left with a tender look that isn’t, theoretically, _supposed_ to turn the insides of demons into a mess of pure sugar. “By the very best. Come along, let’s finish our walk.”

And this, reader, is where our story leaves off for now. Take this idea with you, if you’d like…

Two beings, not completely like or unlike you and I, once reached across the gulf between Heaven and Hell. They shared secrets in the Garden of Eden, just as the first rain began to fall and humankind, too, was falling for the first time ever over the consuming of a forbidden apple. More than six thousand years and story after infinite story later, the very same pair has found the freedom to choose Earth and each other. They’ve just paused to make love in an apple orchard of humankind’s cultivation, and then set out together to continue on their way under sun and shade alike.


End file.
